


Alive, After All

by saturnina



Category: Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Kinks (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Brother Feels, Brother/Brother Incest, But still just porn, Introspective Porn, Just porn really, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-09 01:24:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8870332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturnina/pseuds/saturnina
Summary: When working on their music they needed no words to read each other's need.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a shameless PWP. If you find any plot here you may consider yourself a _very_ attentive reader. Alright, the story does have a few reflections of emotional  & psychological nature, but all mixed with copious amounts of undiluted gay sex. And most importantly: this fanfic contains **sibling INCEST**. Read at your own risk! You have been warned...
> 
> For canon-addicts, the story happens during the recording sessions of _Sleepwalker_ , in 1976.

_October 1976.  
Konk Studios, London._

 

His thighs were beginning to burn. They trembled, the exhausted muscles straining to keep him steady on that old, old rug, too old to have a decent anti-slip underlay, so each of Ray's thrust nearly sent him skidding forwards because his arms had long ago given up supporting him. His fingers uselessly tried to bury themselves into the rug's thin, rough fibres.

On all fours. They would both have carpet burns on their knees tomorrow.

On all fours. Feeling his brother run his long, long fingers up and down his thighs, Ray's bony hips snapping into his with unrelenting precision. So powerful that sometimes it hurt and Dave wondered why, why were they doing this, such a disgusting thing...

"Uhnn— God, Dave you feel—"

And then he remembered. To draw these enticing sounds from his uptight brother... Ray was strangely vocal during sex, always letting Dave know his pleasure, always talking, smooth voice suddenly hoarse against Dave's ears. And the younger man moaned back, not as coherently as his brother—how could Ray even remember feeble things like _words_ in times like this?—but equally clear in his intent.

And then he remembered how he had waited until all others left Konk, waited because he knew Ray would stay longer than anyone else, after driving them mad with fatigue due to his perfectionism, mixing and remixing and rethinking every chord of a song. Dave never waited for him, but today he had because—

Ray's weight against his back, his breath tickling his ear, his own chest now touching the carpet. He'd be raw inside and outside the next morning, Lisbet would ask him about it, he'd have to lie. A rash. Allergy to fabric. Yeah. Allergy. Dave could barely inhale, his brother buried into him, the shallow thrusts punctuated by throaty gasps, the velvety rasp inside him so different from the scratchy feeling of the rug against his skin. They were so close now, Ray and him. As close as they could ever get. Three things they did well together. Music. Football.

And fucking. They fucked marvellously together.

That's why Dave had waited in the studio, instead of going home. All day, all day the heat had been lingering in the air. Now that their minds were once more joined into the same work—no more concept albums _thank God_!—heat hovered in a warm, intoxicating mist between them. That leaden weight, that rush of warmth when they touched. The spark of their proximity. Their charged silences. When working on their music they needed no words to read each other's need.

"D'ya like tha'? Uh? Like when when I fuck ya like tha'?"

They need no words when they fucked either, but Dave would be lying if he said he didn’t love hearing them.

"Uhn— _yeah!_ 'S too fuckin' good... don’t stop!"

Ray didn't stop. The short thrusts were promptly replaced by longer, deeper ones. All day, all day they had balanced themselves on the blazing aerial rope of their mutual need. Five times they came close to fighting, close to throttling each other and exchanging punches, making their bandmates anxious and apprehensive that another session would be wasted over a pointless brawl.

They resisted the urge of using violence as an immediate outlet, and later Dave convinced Ray to go upstairs with him, to the management room. A couple of desks, lots of scattered paper. A small sofa and a rug. Ray followed knowing they would either kill each other, or die together.

Ray's thrusts were now hitting Dave prostate with a certain regularity, and the guitarist could feel his release like pins and needles in his toes, prickling their way up his tired, tired legs. Ray's cock in him, stretching him. Ray's balls slapping against his buttocks. Ray's hands sliding on the sweat of Dave's trembling thighs. Grunting, growling, snarling into Dave's ear how delicious he was, his arse, his tight arse, so unbelievably good. How he'd fill Dave with his seed soon, soon, soon, and waiting was agony for Dave, such a perfect agony.

Dave had wanted this, exactly _this_ when he pushed Ray on the couch and sat on his lap, rubbing his own hardening flesh against his brother's crotch. His lips captured Ray's in long, wet kisses, his brother was never much into kisses but Dave demanded them, with lips and tongue, and Ray delivered with teeth.

Dave had been so turned on that he came in the middle of the foreplay, with Ray’s clever tongue teasing his cock and three lube-coated fingers deep up his arse. He hadn't meant to come so fast but his orgasm took him by surprise, spread legs shaking, hips jerking, and his semen staining both his stomach and Ray's face. Dave expected his brother leave in a fit of dudgeon, but the other merely chuckled, rather amused by his little brother's lack of control, and wiped his face with Dave's t-shirt.

His body relaxed after Ray pulled his fingers out and the songwriter took the opportunity to pull his sweet little brother down onto his lap, onto his own hard cock. The sudden thrust into his body made Dave arch his back, a taut string about to snap, toes curling in pained delight. Yes, yes, yes, that's _exactly_ what he had been thinking about all day, all evening, thinking that he would kill his brother if he couldn't have him buried to the hilt within his feverish body before the night was over. They fucked with their eyes wide open, watching each other's expressions, groaning into each other's mouth until Ray’s release shuddered through them.

That hadn't been enough to sate Dave's hunger though; it didn't feel raw enough, he was still whole and breathing and alive, he wanted _more_. When Ray got up to fetch his discarded clothes Dave held him by the wrist, pulled him to the floor and kissed him, his face, his neck, his torso, masturbating him until he was hard again, begging Ray to give it to him once more.

Ray did and now the air jammed in Dave throat—was breathing even necessary when he felt so close to dying? Only moaning made sense, that and Ray's dirty, dirty words, getting dirtier as their ecstasy got more unbearable—

"Can ya feel me? God you’re so tight—" Ray’s voice was low and husky.

Dave sobbed with pleasure, his own cock throbbing between his legs. He hadn't touched himself so far and his penis was harder than it had ever been, begging for that special pressure that would bring him release. He looked down and saw it dripping, a glistening string of precome drooping from the glans to the rug.

Almost there. Ray's thrusts were becoming more and more erratic, his nose nestled against the crook of Dave's neck. And suddenly Dave threw his head back, mouth opening and closing a few times before he could articulate—

"'I'm so—ah!—so close Ray! Touch me!"

Three things they did well together. Only three. They did not have much in common, personalities too disparate for them to maintain any pretence of friendship. Their love was raw, too close to hatred and, in their rare points of convergence, their connection felt so deep it was almost intrusive. They communicated through silence. They were each other’s hell.

"So fuckin' hard for me, aren't ya?"

Yes, he was. So fucking hard for him. Ray's hand wrapped perfectly around Dave's cock, just the way he loved it, squeezing the length in his grip, his thumb and index finger gently massaging the head through the foreskin. Excruciatingly slow at first, a torture of a special kind, until Dave cries rose to a crescendo, to a near scream, and he was glad Konk was empty because he was sure someone would have thought Ray was murdering him.

He nearly was. 

Ray pulled the foreskin back carefully, exposing the head. Then his thumb began to caress the sensitive opening of Dave's urethra and he whispered huskily in his brother's ear:

"I wanna feel you spurt! C'mon!"

These words, how they made him shiver. Dave wanted to give what he was asked, but also wanted to withhold, to prolong the thrill of that unspeakable union, so rare between the two of them. He tried, tried to hold back, but Ray pumped his cock until his body surrendered with an overwhelming surge, and he ejaculated in his brother's hand, screaming. He could feel his hole contracting wildly around Ray’s shaft, but Ray kept thrusting with all he got, he didn't stop or slow down, he thrusted right through Dave's spasms, the friction extending his orgasm until he thought he would never, ever, ever stop coming...

When he no longer had a voice to scream, when his body became so limp it looked like a stringless marionette, he felt Ray pull him up until he was kneeling on his brother's lap, and Ray rammed up into him, his cock still hard, so hard, once, twice—

"Oh, 'm gonna spunk you again Dave, yes—!"

Ray cried out, a long, frantic howl that sizzled every nerve ending in the Dave’s body. He felt the familiar flutter of Ray’s cock inside his body, his brother’s convulsions rippling through him as blunt fingernails dug in that tender spot where Dave’s thighs met his hips. He whined and panted, succumbing to that wave of pleasure until Ray finally eased him onto the rug again, pulling out and collapsing beside his spent body.

Then there was silence, pierced only by the sound of their ragged breaths, so similar they seemed to belong to the same person. Dave looked at Ray's naked, sweaty body. They never knew what to say to each other after satiating their mutual lust. They didn't talk about it, as they did not talk while playing football or making music. They never had to look for each other in the field. They never had to ask which word or note should go together to convey just the right emotion. The simply _knew_.

They knew what was going on between them, although they did not speak about it, or think about it. They knew it was wrong. They knew it was dangerous. They knew they would soon grow sick of it again and then long months of abstinence, of almost no contact outside work, would follow.

Ray got up to rescue his scattered clothes, but only after wiping his hand with Dave's shirt again. He dressed quietly, without his usual embarrassment. Dave watched him with heavy-lidded eyes, his expression something between sleepy and sultry. They did not speak until a fully dressed Ray turned around to look at his brother. 

"Gonna sleep 'ere?"

Dave wanted to say no, but his body was no longer collaborating. He had pushed it to its limits. But no, he did not want to sleep on that horrible rug. The cold air was beginning to make itself felt now that both of them had stopped burning, and he wanted to go home, to his bed, to his wife.

Ray was not the kind to grace his lovers with warm cuddling after sex. Maybe he did that with his women, yeah, but not with his brother. It was a vulnerability neither of them could afford. But he did pick up his brother’s clothes and put them beside him before lightly nudging him in the ribs.

"Hey, don't fall asleep. You'll catch a cold 'ere."

Dave nodded and sat on the floor, feeling his muscles ache and complain at every small movement. His arms were shaking as he wiped himself with his already ruined long-sleeved t-shirt, before putting it on without any sign of disgust. When he tried to stand to pull up his trousers, his jelly-like legs nearly gave out and Ray had to steady him. He finished dressing with a hand firmly planted on his brother's thin chest for support, feeling the drumbeat of his now calm heart, the rise and fall of his ribcage, moving with life.

Still alive, after all.

They left the Konk Studios together, locked the door on their way out and separated on the street without so much as a goodnight. It was past 2 am and all was silent and still, as if life had been extincted while they fucked on that old rug. Despite the cold wind that cut through Tottenham Lane, Dave got rid of his stained shirt in the nearest wheelie bin, stoically enduring the rough leather of his jacket against his sensitive skin. He walked home in a numb haze, longing for that safe haven where his demons feared to tread. Home.

He would unlock the front door, close it quietly and toe off his shoes before climbing the stairs. He would check on his kids, lovingly kiss his sleeping boys, and then go to the bathroom. He would finish undressing and chasten his unruly body with a freezing shower. Then he’d finally slip under the covers by Lisbet’s side, his cold hardness next to her soft warmth. He would kiss her hair, he would tell her he loved her and he would mean every guilty word.

**Author's Note:**

>  **Disclaimer:** Nothing in this fanfic is true and I do not claim that the people mentioned in it are like this in real life. No disrespect is intended.


End file.
